


This, Fixed

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s still not quite used to this.</p><p>Terezi’s hand, twisted in his hair. Roxy, sighing, all pink and short of breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This, Fixed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy!

John’s still not quite used to this.

Terezi’s hand, twisted in his hair. Roxy, sighing, all pink and short of breath.

“John,” Roxy says. “ _John_.” She bends her head down. Her warm breath brushes his neck. As she groans softly and curls in on herself, her lips press incidentally against his bare shoulder.

John’s left hand twitches against her ribcage and moves up to briefly cup her breast under her shirt and continue on, lifting her chin and moving her mouth up to his, uncurling her, pulling the sighs out of her.

His right hand, beneath her skirt, is even busier.

“John,” Roxy says again, against his lips.

“John,” Terezi says too, but her voice is sharper and produces a different effect altogether. He growls briefly up at her, perhaps an attempt at the rumble of a troll’s sharp snarl. She pulls at his black hair, and his head snaps back. She likes the widening of his eyes, his suddenly human moan as she reaches down to touch his twisting mouth.

“Fuck you,” he says, and she presses her finger between his lips, catching him like a fish on a hook, pulling his head even farther back. In John’s lap, Roxy is still panting, still bucking her hips against John’s hand, watching the two of them with a fascination.

John bites, blunt teeth. Terezi’s skin is too thick to break. She releases him.

“Nice incisors, omnivore,” she says, moving to kneel next to him. She wrestles and rearranges him, pinning one of his hands behind his back, reaching for the other.

“Mind if I borrow this?” she says to Roxy.

“Only if you’re” and suddenly Roxy’s hips jerk, her breath hiccups out of her, “quick.”

Terezi grins down at John’s hand. His fingers are still wet, and Roxy, watching, sighs at the smear they leave against Terezi’s cheek, as she presses them up to her, bears her teeth. John is panting and bright eyed.

“With smiles like these,” John says, “who needs—“ but he’s cut off by his own groan as Terezi bites down into the fleshy heel of his hand.

“Oh god,” he gasps, and she laves her tongue against the little wounds she’s left behind.

“Yes?” she says, mocking, and he tries and fails to speak, voice strangled. She pulls his wet hand behind his back too, holding both his wrists together one-handed, and leans forward from behind him to prop her sharp chin on his shoulder.

Roxy rolls her hips slightly, thrusting against nothing.

Terezi hums thoughtfully. She reaches down to linger over the front of John’s unbuttoned pants. Her touch is maddeningly light, and he jerks up against her, prompting a low whistle. “Calm down there, bucko,” she says, smug.

“I’ll calm down when you promise to never call me something as stupid as “bucko” again,” he says, and she grins.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she says to Roxy. “I’m keeping both his hands forever.”

John half-laughs and struggles to pull free once more, but Roxy’s already ahead of the curve. Straddling John’s thigh, she gasps and grinds down, rubbing herself against it jerkily. One of her hands grabs at the bedcovers and she clutches her rumpled skirt with the other.

“Roxy—“ John says, and his hands twitch desperately in Terezi’s grip.

Roxy tips her head back, groaning.

“Look at her,” Terezi says, her fingers ghosting against him. “What kind of person wouldn’t help out poor Roxy in this predicament.”

“Well, if you— I’d—“ John’s become slightly less coherent. “I’d get right on that if— oh, shit, Roxy—“

Roxy’s getting shaky, her eyes falling closed. Terezi’s hand is still infuriatingly gentle.

“Fuck—” John gasps.

Terezi pulls slightly at his hands, watching the tension of his shoulders, contorting slightly. He growls again and shakes his hair out of his eyes.

Terezi grins. Roxy’s breath hitches. John bucks up, Terezi pulls him back, his thigh tilts and rocks, Roxy _whines_ —

“Terezi,” she says, almost a whisper. “Let him—“

And before she even finishes speaking, Terezi’s already released his hands, and one’s already pushing up between Roxy’s legs and making her gasp almost like a scream, and the other against the heat of his crotch, Terezi humming a bright hum and joining in, pressing hard now, batting his hand away and rubbing him firmly, and Roxy’s shaking apart, and John’s shaking apart, and Terezi’s sighing low.

They find themselves tipped over onto the covers, entwined. As Roxy catches her breath, she looks over at them, glossy-eyed. They’re all panting, sweaty and still half-dressed.

“Wow,” she says, breathless.

 

 

 

_Hours in the future, but not many…_

 

Some time in the night, Roxy has ended up in the middle.

John is long asleep, his back against her back. She can feel his breath as he inhales, exhales, soft in the depth of his sleep, the sweat of his skin against hers (she’s ditched her shirt now, too.) His feet are tangled with hers. In the coolness of the room, she’s goosebump-y, the hair on her legs brushing against his.

Terezi is bleary-eyed but still awake. Still not used to sleeping with someone in the same bed. Still not used, perhaps, to beds at all, even after three years recuperacoonless on the meteor. Roxy runs her drowsy fingers gentle against Terezi’s shoulder, reaches up to touch her cheek or tuck her hair behind her ear. Terezi shifts her legs forward to press them against John’s and Roxy’s, intertwined. Her eyes grow heavier, fluttering.

Roxy feels herself drifting towards sleep.

 _In the other timeline,_ she thinks suddenly, _we were the only ones to survive._

Emotional whiplash, in the quietness of the night. But Roxy’s used to that.

Some thoughts come to you regardless of circumstance. Some thoughts creep up on you even as you’re still panting and steaming in your bed. Now too, cool and blanketed, she’s visited by them.

In the other timeline, Dirk, fizzing into the air, disappearing with regret and pixels.

In the other timeline, Rose lying dead in the dirt.

In the other timeline, Roxy, not saving them, not saving them.

Moving forwards toward sleep, Roxy remembers:

The three of them, survivors in an empty land, in a broken world. The twin skyscrapers of LOPAN: Nyx’s statue, Terezi’s smoking contrail. Beneath them, the drama of tearlessness and teal wounds. Around them, the pyramids. Enclosing it all, the shining bubble of the atmosphere.

In the other timeline (or perhaps this is all the same timeline, so hard to keep track when someone zaps back with a blue flashbulb burst and trips it all up, pulls it apart) it was time for change.

In the other timeline, John had just begun to panic.

In the other timeline, Roxy had stopped having hope.

In the other timeline, Terezi yelled “FIX THIS”, and John found himself on his back with a bloody nose, and Roxy buried her mother, and everything twisted and twisted like a nerve, like a red scarf, like the skipping stone of a blue boy-shaped blur, until it found itself here—

A tangle of feet.

Three breathing bodies.

A new world.


End file.
